


Blue Hour

by Geonn



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Canon, Bisexual Female Character, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship, F/F, Flirting, Modeling, Nudity, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Painting, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-22
Updated: 2012-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-04 02:26:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geonn/pseuds/Geonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helen Druitt tries to calm her inner demons by changing her inspiration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Hour

The cat wiggled around the visitor's ankles and made a beeline down the driveway before either woman could stop him. "Damn it. Henry!" The woman in the doorway watched as the animal cut around the hedge and disappeared. She sighed, her shoulders sagged, and she shook her head in defeat as she pushed her hair out of her eyes. The guest had watched the cat's magnificent escape and turned to look between the street and the woman.

"Should I...? I could run and try to catch up--"

"With a cat?" She smiled and shook her head. Charlotte had only asked because the artist was leaning heavily on an ornately carved cane that looked like art but was obviously necessary. "He'll be back sooner or later. Most likely when he's hungry." She pushed up the sleeves of her oversized cardigan and seemed not to notice that they immediately collapsed again to cover her bracelets. "May I help you?"

"Well, actually, I'm here to help you, I think. I'm Charlotte Benoit. I saw the ad you posted at the university about--" She pursed her lips when she saw Helen had started filling in the blanks for herself.

"Ah. Yes, of course. Ms. Benoit. Come in. I'm Helen Druitt." They shook hands as Helen let the younger woman into her house. It was twilight, and only a few lamps were burning to push back the shadows. Charlotte was amazed at how cozy and idyllic the room felt, but the feeling of peacefulness was accentuated by Helen Druitt's apparent discomfort within the confines of it.

Charlotte stood between the living room and the kitchen as the artist went to her easel and removed a work in progress to replace it with a blank canvas. Her cardigan was like a cloud surrounding her, occasionally falling to bare a shoulder or tangling around her black leggings. Finally, she turned to Charlotte as if just remembering she was there.

"Right. Ah..." She lightly patted her palm with her fist and ran her eyes over Charlotte's outfit. "The ad did ask for--"

"Nude model. Right."

"The bathroom is right through--"

"No, don't be silly.

She'd worn a simple sweater, jeans, and slip-on shoes for this moment. She crossed her arms, gripped the hem of her sweater, and pulled it over her head. She toed off her shoes, and then bent to push her jeans and underwear down. Her hair was too short to braid or pin back, so she left it loose and hoped that would be all right. She folded her clothes and put them on a convenient armchair, hands clasped behind her back as she faced the artist. 

"Where do you want me?"

"Ah." Helen gestured at the couch. It had been draped by red sheets, and Charlotte stepped toward it with a smile of satisfaction as she noticed Helen's ears were red. She sat down, spine straight and arms at her side, ready to be posed. Helen stepped around the easel and stood in front of her, and Charlotte looked up, waiting to be molded. 

"Lie back."

Helen's instructions were softly uttered, and her hands gently lifted Charlotte's wrists to place the hands on her lap. Charlotte relaxed so Helen wouldn't meet resistance, and felt like she was a cloud being plied into shape by the wind. Soft touches, impossibly gentle fingers that brushed soft skin and then moved up into her hair. A wave of hair fell over Charlotte's right eye, and Helen put two fingers on Charlotte's chin to turn her head toward the window. 

"Is that comfortable?"

"Mm-hmm." Helen stepped back to look at the full scene and then moved back to her easel. She mixed a palate and glanced at Charlotte to make sure she had the appropriate colors ready. Charlotte had described herself over the phone and emailed a photograph of her face for her skin tone. After a moment, Helen put down her paints and walked back into the scene. "I... I'm terribly sorry. But your nipples..."

"Should they be hard?" One hand was resting on the arm of the couch, and the other was coiled on her hip. "I don't want to move but you--"

Helen hesitated for just a moment before she reached out and cupped a breast in each hand. She used her thumbs to stimulate the nipples until they tightened and stood at attention. She smiled nervously and went back to her post. She chose a brush and, after a moment to take a mental image of the scene, began to spread pigment across the blank white sheet. "Let me know if you need to stand or stretch or--"

"I'm fine. But thank you."

Charlotte let her eyes drift out the garden doors. She loved the music playing on Helen's stereo. It defied any kind of classification. It was almost instrumental ambient white noise, with a voice riding just underneath the tones. The effect was almost hypnotizing, and Charlotte found herself starting to drowse. She knew she would never hold the pose if she went to sleep.

"Is it okay if we talk?"

"Oh, absolutely. I'm sorry; I don't quite know the etiquette. I'm not accustomed to having live models."

"Do you normally paint from photographs or memory?"

"Both, but I've rarely painted people before. I much prefer landscapes or abstracts. I'm trying something different to get out of a rut I've found myself in. It's been a diff--" She caught herself and pressed the back of her hand to her lips. "It's been a difficult year."

Charlotte sympathized. "I'm sorry."

"Ah, don't be. I took a break from the world at large. I completely removed myself from my life for a bit, and it felt like a century passed. When I came back I hardly recognized my home and my work. I needed to change, and making the leap from landscape to portraiture seems like the easiest way to start."

"I may be the perfect muse for you, then. I'm kind of in the middle of that myself. Research scientist, grants didn't quite work out the way I wanted or needed them to. So in between doing what I really want to do, I'm doing odd jobs for grocery money. When I saw your ad, though, it was like a beam of light." She smiled. "I love art, and I respect anyone who is able to make it. And to be able to help someone create, I couldn't resist."

"Well, it's much appreciated. You'd not believe the amount of frat boys I had volunteering to get their kit off in here. I think they were hoping to live out some sort of milk fantasy."

Charlotte furrowed her brow. "What?"

"A milk fantasy. You know, younger men with mother issues who--"

Charlotte laughed. "You mean MILF. Mom I'd like to..."

"Ah. Yes, I believe that's the term I was grasping for. You've moved your left hand, dear..."

"Oh. Sorry. Is that--?"

"Yes."

Silence reigned a bit longer before Charlotte broke it again. "May I ask what... I mean, people don't normally just switch up their entire lives for no reason. I assume the cane had a little something to do with it."

Helen looked at the cane. It had a carved ivory grip shaped like some sort of black and white monkey's head. "Yes," she said almost dreamily. "The cane. There was an incident last year. I became a bit addicted to medication, and I indulged the fantasies of an unbalanced man who lived across the street. We became convinced the entire world was a construct created solely for our benefit and, in real life, we hunted monsters together." She smiled sadly.

"Can't really blame you for that. Who doesn't want to be a doctor of ass-kicking?"

Helen tilted her head slightly at the phrasing, but shook her head. "Indeed. We took it much too far, however. I was frightened of stagnating, and he... the pressures of achieving his dream job and a pregnant wife at home--"

Charlotte's eyes widened. "Oh, God. The doctor, rising star in his field, with the pregnant wife at home... You're talking about Will Zimmerman. You were the other person in the car."

Helen pressed her lips together. "I was. Mrs. Zimmerman was kind enough to keep me out of the press gauntlet, but she made it clear in no uncertain terms that she blamed me for her husband's death. We settled out of court, and I'll be supporting their daughter until she enters college. I proudly write the checks every month... it's not even a fraction of what I truly owe, but I can only do what I can."

"It's commendable."

"Commendable would have been realizing his delusion before I drove off the road. I think Abby knew I would have traded places with her husband in an instant, and she saw that he was a willing participant in our madness. Otherwise she could have been much more vindictive. In the end, we achieved an uneasy peace."

"Do you blame yourself?"

"Of course I do. How could I not? We'd both been ill for some time. Only by coming together did we become confident enough to act on our insanity. I killed the man as certainly as he fractured my hip." She had been running the brush across the canvas as they talked, occasionally shifting her eyes from the painting to Charlotte for reference before she made another stroke.

Soon, the clock in the hallway chimed. Helen had already been stepping away from her easel when it began; she'd seen their time was up in the shift of light and shadow. She smiled at Charlotte and turned away. "You may dress. I'll get your check."

Charlotte sat up and put her feet on the floor. She'd been sitting for just over an hour, holding the same position, and she was utterly stiff. She rolled her neck on her shoulders, her feet and hands tingling as they woke back up. She wiggled her toes in the carpet and arched her back, listening to the little pops and crackles of relief. She stood and went to her clothes, stepping into her panties and pulling her sweater over her head before curiosity got the best of her.

"May I see?"

Helen gestured at the painting and Charlotte stepped around the corner. Her head, shoulders, and torso had been transferred onto the canvas. If it had been just a touch more realistic, she would have accused Helen of taking a photograph of her and spending the past sixty minutes obscuring the outer edges with white paint. 

But she could see where the color of her chest had faded to nothing, where the lines of the couch vanished into the ether. She could see where Helen had used her thumb to get the perfect angle for the inner curve of her breasts. Her face had no features; detail work like that would probably come later. But the curls of hair hanging in her face, the shape of her hair, the line of her neck and shoulders...

"Do you like it?"

The whispered question had come from just over Charlotte's shoulder, and her jump of surprise transmuted into a full-bodied shudder. She turned to look at Helen and nodded. "It's amazing."

"Your check. I'll see you again this time tomorrow, I hope?"

"Yes. Of course. Yes."

"Excellent. I'll show you out." She put her hand on Charlotte's shoulder and walked her toward the foyer. "You were an excellent model. You have a truly remarkable face." Charlotte looked and noticed Helen was staring at her, and they looked away at the same moment. "Your... cheekbones. And chin. The eyes are... simply. Beautiful, deep and dark eyes, the sort you'd see on... ancient... God, I'm talking madness. Sorry."

Charlotte had rather enjoyed the madness. "Although I think I'm offended on behalf of my nose and mouth."

"Exquisite. Beyond compare." She brushed her thumb over Charlotte's bottom lip, such an intimate move that, after a moment, they both laughed nervously. "Well. Tomorrow, then?"

"Ms. Druitt--"

"Helen, please."

"Helen."

"Yes."

Charlotte swallowed. What she was about to say was going to be hard, awkward, and embarrassing for them both, but she couldn't walk out the door without saying it. Helen was holding her breath in anticipation and Charlotte finally surrendered.

"I'm not wearing any pants."

They both looked down, and then Helen twisted to see Charlotte's jeans still nearly folded on the armchair. Her shoes were neatly lined up on the floor underneath them. Helen groaned. 

"Oh, bloody hell."

Charlotte put her hand on Helen's upper arm and squeezed. "It's okay. I'll just, ah, I'll just..." She walked back into the living room and took her pants off the chair, keeping her back to Helen as she stepped into them and shimmied them up her hips. She was stepping into her shoes when Helen found her voice again.

"I was hoping you were going to ask for a spot of dinner."

Charlotte twisted to look at her. "You were?"

Helen rested both hands on the head of her cane and hunched her shoulders. "Since the divorce I've been attempting to learn how to eat alone." She narrowed her eyes and wrinkled her nose in a wince. "Haven't quite mastered it. Always a bit awkward. Since you're here, after all, I could at least let you limber up before you drive home."

Charlotte ran her fingers through her hair. "I wouldn't want a leg cramp on the expressway."

"Perish forbid."

"If you're offering, then I would absolutely love to have dinner with you, Ms. Dru-- Helen. You can deduct it from my modeling fee."

"Of course not. You earned that. This will just be... two potential friends, breaking bread together." Helen limped into the kitchen and Charlotte joined her, determined to at least help in the preparations. Once the invitation had been extended and accepted, Helen seemed imbued with life and purpose. 

As they prepared the meal, Helen said, "We'll be ending all of your sessions around this time. Quality of light being what it is..." She looked toward the garden doors and then looked at Charlotte. "We could make this regular. Sitting for the portrait and then sitting down for dinner together. We could talk. Get to know one another."

"I would like that. It's been ages." She took a bottle of wine from the fridge and found two wine glasses in the cupboard. "How long do you think it will take before the painting is ready?"

"Mm. I can only really work on it an hour every day, when the sun and the light of the room conspire just right." She glanced at Charlotte's hand and, after a moment, moved hers to cover it. "It could take quite a while."

Charlotte kept her hand underneath Helen's, trying to make a show of not moving it before she met Helen's gaze. "Good. I could use the money."

Helen's lips curled into a genuine smile. "You'll bankrupt me."

"You never know," Charlotte said. "Maybe we could work something out. Maybe you could earn a freebie."

"And how, praytell, would one do that, Ms. Benoit?"

Charlotte whispered the answer in Helen's ear. Helen listened, smiled, and slid her fingers between Charlotte's. She pulled back, her nose brushing against Charlotte's and their faces inches apart. Charlotte's eyes were as wide as Helen's were dark. 

"Too much?"

"No." Helen's voice was whisper-soft, and she leaned in.

Something crashed in the other room.

"Fuck!"

"Bloody bloody bloody hell!" She looked at the door and growled. "Henry."

Charlotte's heart was still in her throat. "Son? Uh, b-boyfriend?"

"The blasted cat." Helen stepped quickly around the kitchen island and limped to the door. She opened it wide and let the cat in, watching the white blur streak through the house to disappear around the corner. She sighed and closed the door before joining Charlotte in the kitchen. The moment had passed, the golden hour had faded, and they both felt too awkward to try recapturing it. But Charlotte knew there would be other golden hours, and once they were more comfortable around each other, they would be better at capturing it.

They went back to preparing dinner, this time letting the lingering touches linger and held the stolen glances with more confidence before going back to what they were doing. By the time they finally sat across from each other at the dining room table, Charlotte felt closer to Helen than many of the women she'd actually gone to bed with. Helen lit a candle, and smiled at Charlotte through the soft golden light. Behind her, Charlotte could see the painting that had just begun taking shape on the easel. Her eyes drifted back to Helen, to the moment they were sharing, and she smiled at herself.

The picture was hardly complete, but it was off to a very promising start.


End file.
